Water Under The Bridge
by MrBenzedrine
Summary: Harry's determined to win back Hermione's heart, but can he do it without sticking his foot in his mouth? Harmony. PROMPT: "There is no need to call me Sir, Professor."


**Prompt: "There is no need to call me Sir, Professor."**  
 **― Harry James Potter.**  
 **Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince**

 **Summary: Harry's determined to win back Hermione's heart, but can he do it without sticking his foot in his mouth? Harmony.**  
 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not make a profit from this story.**  
 **Bet and Alpha love goes to: LondonsLegend, LightofEvolution, and SaintDionysus**

 **Was written for a comp, but was disqualified for having alphas. Didn't know I wasn't allowed them, but it gave me an opportunity to go 200 words over the limit to give the story the little extra oomph it needed.**

 **I hope you love it.**

 **~A.**

* * *

 **The song that inspired this fic:**  
 **"Water Under the Bridge" by Adele.**

 **"If you're not the one for me**

 **Then how come I can bring you to your knees?**

 **If you're not the one for me**

 **Why do I hate the idea of being free?**

 **And if I'm not the one for you**

 **You've gotta stop holding me the way you do**

 **Oh honey, if I'm not the one for you**

 **Why have we been through what we have been through?**

 **If you're gonna let me down, let me down gently**

 **Don't pretend that you don't want me**

 **Our love ain't water under the bridge."**

* * *

Harry hadn't _meant_ to spill his morning cup of tea over his tie and dress shirt, nor did he mean to knock over his ink bottle and spill fresh onyx onto his morning briefings. He blamed the words scribbled across the parchment he held in his left hand and what they requested. More importantly, he blamed himself for becoming worked up about some _blasted_ words. But the letters sewn together in cursive held more significance to him than his tea, or his tie, or his shirt, or his briefings—because they were from _her._

 **Harry,**

 **I hope this letter finds you satisfactory. I write to you today in hopes that you could make some time out of your schedule for the students of Hogwarts. As you well know, I have been the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor here for the last two years, and I would like to give something new a try. Would you be interested in being a guest speaker to my seventh year students? I think it would motivate them (as they're always asking about you). Let me know if you could find a way. I have already approved this proposal with Headmistress McGonagall.**

 **Hope all is well! Congratulations on your promotion to Deputy Auror. Neville and I are very proud of you. He says hello, and he can't wait to see you again, should you decide to accept my invitation.**

 **Hermione**

 _Hermione._ Harry read her signature again and again, as if it was a code to decipher. No 'sincerely' or even a last name. Just _Hermione._ Well, that was friendlier than Professor Granger, he imagined, but still...just what did it mean? Was she writing as Hermione, his long time best friend? Hermione the D.A.D.A. Professor? Or could the simple stroke of her signature mean she was still thinking about him, too?

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, taking a shaky sip from his cup only to realize it was empty because he wore its contents before sighing and leaning back in his comfy office chair. The nights were lonely, and the days even more so. Seeing this letter from Hermione...it did things to his insides, jumbling them around like his stomach was a ball pit and a three-year-old decided to take a dive into them.

Two years, and he still wasn't over her.

"I'm knackered, and it isn't even ten in the morning," he muttered to himself, finally exerting enough energy to release his wand from the holster on his hip and tidy up the mess he made. Still, there was no saving those pesky briefings; he'd have to request a new copy from his secretary. Meanwhile, he could stare at Hermione's letter and painfully wonder (to himself, of course) where it all went wrong.

They'd been happy, once. That much he was certain, but the rest of it...

 _Knock, knock!_ His secretary pried open the door and said, in her mousy undertone, "Auror Potter, is everything alright? I heard a scream."

Harry tucked Hermione's letter quickly into his desk drawer, trying to feign a nonchalant yawn. "I, er, wouldn't exactly call it a scream, would you, Helen? More of a...manly exertion."

Helen raised both her bushy eyebrows, perplexed. "No, Auror Potter, it was certainly a scream. Oh, Morgana! Your tie!" She pointed at Harry's stained outfit. Damn, he knew he'd forgotten something.

"It's nothing, really," he insisted, noticing the concern in Helen's eyes. "I'll just use some magic and-"

"- _Magic_ won't get out those stains so easily. Lucky for you, I happen to keep several ties in my desk for _just_ these occasions."

"You wouldn't happen to keep a spare shirt, would you?" Harry asked flippantly, smirking. So it was with great surprise when Helen's thin lips broached into a spritely smile.

"As a matter of fact," she said, turning to, no doubt, retrieve the clothing in question.

"Wait! I was- I wasn't-" But it was too late; Helen was gone, and Harry was left to feel like an arse for trying to be cheeky. He should have known better, considering Helen wasn't one to pick up on a healthy dose of teasing. Another sigh. "So much for sarcasm."

* * *

Sweaty. M _erlin, my hands are far too sweaty for this,_ Harry thought as he approached the steps of Hogwarts, choking down his heart lodged in his throat. The school still cast a majestic shadow in its wake, leaving him in awe. However, his alma mater was nothing compared to the sight of the curly-haired brunette standing at the top of the steps, her hands tucked behind her back. She wore a casual set of dress slacks (well, casual for _her_ , he imagined) and a summer blouse that shook in the Saturday afternoon wind. Her face was calm, serene even, but he noticed the way her eyes lit up just a smidgen as their gazes met. He thought about opening his mouth to speak, but he feared his heart might explode and he would vomit it all over the schoolyard, so he kept it shut tight, opting for a friendly wave of the hand instead; the breeze felt nice on his clammy palm.

His heart flatlined, waiting for a response.

She waved back. It was enough to kickstart the organ back to life.

"Harry." Hermione took one step, and then the other, down the staircase to meet him as he began his ascent toward her. He thought about reaching out to hug her, like they did in their childhood, but the dynamic between them was different now. Instead, he settled on ruffling his hand through his tresses (out of habit) and stopped just short of the step she stood on. Even still, Harry towered over her. His lanky form soaked up the heat radiating from her like a sponge, and his eyes took in the freckles on her cheeks just as greedily as he glanced at the pink along the bridge of her nose.

"Hey," he said.

"Hello," she said back.

"Er...thanks for having me," he attempted a grin, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Hermione nodded crisply. "The students are all very excited to meet you."

 _Yeah. The students. That's why I'm here, isn't it?_ Harry licked his lips and agreed, "And I'm excited to meet them."

"I also appreciate you coming early to discuss the parameters of what I want you to go over with them."

"Sure, Hermione. You know I'd do anything for you."

It was the wrong thing to say; her face contorted into one of formality while she backed up a step and turned around, her curls bobbing as she began toward the looming doors. "Come on. I'll show you to your room."

Fighting the urge to stare at her derriere, Harry lightly smacked his cheek and took to following her, having to quicken his pace to keep up.

The first step into Hogwarts caused a wave of nostalgia to crash against him, and he hesitated in the doorway. The smells, the sounds, the magic in the air - Hogwarts had been his home for some of the most important years of his life. Coming here again made him want to race to the Gryffindor Common Room, eat some every flavored beans, and beg Hermione to help him with his homework. Hermione seemed to understand the glint in his eye when she peered over her shoulder, because she paused her brisk pace and said, "I know."

"It looks different," he noted.

"There were many repairs to Hogwarts after the War, especially to the entrances and staircases."

"A lot of things have changed," he admitted.

* * *

 **Four Years Ago**

* * *

"I'm done, Harry! I'm just...done!" Hermione sniffled into the sleeve of her sweater, staining it with her dripping mascara as she swiped back up her cheeks. She looked so pretty under the twinkling streetlights of Diagon Alley, even as she cried and tried to avoid the curious eyes around her.

Harry never knew how to deal with a crying Hermione; she so rarely showed such weakness in front of anyone, but he was glad it could be him. He reached out, pulling her to bury her face into his jacket as a gust of wind shook them both to the bones.

"He said he would be here," she whispered.

"I'm sure there's a good reason-"

"There's always a good reason," she snapped, tilting her head up to face him. "Excuses, more like. Every time he asks me for a second chance, I give it to him. And then, just when I think things are going back to the way they were...Why am I such a gullible idiot, Harry?"

A smirk crossed his lips as he rubbed his hand up and down her spine, trying to soothe her. "Osmosis, I guess."

She snorted at that, resting her cheek against his chest. " _You_ came."

"You told me to."

"I told Ron, _too_ , but he still didn't come."

"Ron loves you, Hermione. He's just…" He tried to find the words to describe his best friend without ruining the 'mate-code' they kept between them. "He's stagnant."

" _Someone's_ been reading the dictionary I got him for his birthday…"

"Hey, I know words." Harry stuck out his tongue, even when he knew she couldn't see it. Somehow, it made the action that much better. "But he is, Hermione. Until he figures out what he wants to do in life, he's never going to feel he's good enough for you."

"Did he say that?"

"Something like that."

"Did you know he wasn't coming?"

"No," he lied, knowing the truth would hurt her worse. "But I had a feeling…" Maybe that would soften the blow.

" _You_ came."

"I did."

There was a moment of silence between them as they stood on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the main event. She still hadn't untucked herself from his arms, but he wasn't complaining. "Are you alright, Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Your heart is racing."

"Oh. Um…" He felt his ears warm, and he was thankful that he caught sight of Neville approaching so he could change the subject. There was _no way_ in Hell he would tell Hermione why his heart beat wildly in his chest; for a clever girl, she still didn't know, and that was fine by him. "Look, Neville's here."

"Neville?" Hermione's voice caught, and she began swiping at her eyes as she uncurled herself from his arms. "Are my eyes puffy? I don't want him to know I was crying…"

Harry brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the last remnants of her mascara. She was just as pretty without it, in any case. "All set."

"Thank you, Harry."

His thumb lingered on her cheek a moment too long, and she noticed. He quickly removed his hand and spun her around. "Neville!"

"Hi, Harry! Hermione!" Neville greeted them cheerfully, rubbing his mittened hands together.

"Where's Luna?" asked Hermione, trying her best to keep her voice from quivering. Harry rested a hand on the small of her back, letting her know he was here for her. She relaxed against it, and her voice became confident again. "She's still coming, isn't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's just grabbing some tarts from a vendor down the street."

"Cravings?" asked Harry.

"She's eating us out of house and home. If I didn't know any better, I would say she was feeding for all of Dumbledore's Army. It's a wonder she's as small as she is."

As if on cue, Luna Lovegood pushed her way through the crowd, a handful of tarts in her hands and a knitted scarf around her neck. The cutest of bumps protruded from her belly, causing her to waddle on her way to her friends. Neville greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, reaching for one of the tarts.

"Hello, Luna," Harry grinned. "How's the...um...you know?"

"It's a baby, Harry. Not a tumor," Hermione scolded, elbowing him gently in the stomach.

"Twins, actually," said Neville, causing a surprised expression to befall both of his friends' faces as Luna chowed down on her tarts. "We just found out today!"

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Congratulations," Harry agreed. "See, Hermione, it wasn't a baby at all. It was _two_ babies."

"A technicality, Sir," she spun around, poking him in the sternum. "And you can't win on those."

"Wanna bet?" he quirked an eyebrow, laughing. "Quidditch, Hermione. It's _all_ about technicalities."

"Why does everything come back to Quidditch with you?"

"It's plants for Neville," Luna said endearingly, patting her husband on the cheek. "No Ron?"

"Oh, um…" Hermione's crestfallen expression said it all.

"That's alright," Luna said, reaching over and giving Hermione's hand a squeeze. "Harry's here, and he makes a wonderful stand-in."

"Gee, I feel _so_ loved, Luna," Harry teased, reaching over and breaking off a piece of tart.

"Well, you are loved," she replied back, not catching his sarcasm. "Even the wrackspurts are taken with you."

"I'm flattered." Harry rolled his eyes behind Luna's back, though he couldn't help the smile that breached his face. Hermione caught him and swatted him on the shoulder; Harry replied with a light shrug. "Thanks, Luna."

"Anytime."

"Uh oh," Neville whispered, stepping back to stand shoulder to shoulder with Harry. "Memory lane, twelve o'clock."

It took only a moment for Harry to catch the flash of red hair and realize Ginny was walking through the crowd, arm-in-arm with her newest accessory: Oliver Wood. Harry and Ginny's split had been for little more than a year now, but it still set a bad taste in his mouth when he saw her with whomever the flavor of the week was. The jealous streak ran itself out of Harry's system as quickly as it came, and he was left with the reflection of another failed relationship under his belt - just like the brunette resting her back against his frame as she wrapped his arms around herself to keep warm. The corners of his lips turned up; Harry was on cloud nine.

"When are they going to start?" asked Neville.

"Any minute now," replied Hermione, bouncing on her heels and, incidentally, brushing her bum against Harry's pants. He had to think of Molly Weasley in a bathing suit to slow the blood heading south. "It's starting!" She bounced even more, causing Harry to inhale sharply.

From the back of the street, small, twinkling lights began to illuminate the tops of the roofs. They weren't the normal, muggle ones Harry was accustomed to seeing; they never actually touched the shingles. Instead, they hovered inches above like fireflies - which, in fact, they were. A new breed of magical firefly discovered by Neville and Luna just this last year. Somehow, with some scented oils, Luna had managed to put together this Christmas light show for all of Diagon Alley. The fireflies lit up one by one, a byproduct of being enticed by the smells. Every year, Harry and Hermione would go to a light show in muggle London, but this year marked something special. There was no Ron or Ginny in the picture. And Harry wanted very much to hold Hermione in his arms tonight without feeling guilty about it.

"Beautiful," she whispered, leaning her cheek against his arm.

Harry, without thinking, whispered, "Sort of like someone I know."

If Hermione got his meaning, she didn't lead on, instead watching in silence with him until all of the roofs were scattered in brilliant golds and silvers.

"Reminds me of Hogwarts," said Neville.

"It truly is amazing," Hermione commented with more of her usual cadence. "All these years telling us that Trindles existed, and here they are, right in front of us."

"It's alright that you never noticed them before," said Luna. "They only appear when they're exposed to peppermint extract. Unless it was part of your daily perfume, like mine, you wouldn't have seen them."

"Even still...this is magnificent."

"For Hermione, that's an apology," translated Harry. Hermione peered over her shoulder, pretending to be insulted.

"Are you quite done?" she chided as their eyes caught.

"Haven't started, really," he quipped back.

"Well, let me know when you do so I can put you in your place."

There was something in the way she said it that had Harry's blood boiling in the most painfully anticipating ways. Was she flirting with him? It seemed like it. That was the same quirk of eyebrow she would give Ron...no, he was imagining it. He had to be. It was the Trindles playing tricks on his mind. But then she turned around, leaning comfortably against his chest, and he got the sneaking suspicion she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

So, he took a chance. "Promise?" he whispered against her ear.

The air was thick when she tilted her head toward him, and their lips were dangerously close. Ever since he realized his feelings toward Hermione, this had been a fantasy of his: holding her so close he could kiss her. And now, here they were, and he felt frozen on the spot, like he was back in Hogwarts trying to ask Cho Chang to the Yule Ball. But damn it, this wasn't Cho Chang. This was Hermione Granger. Smart, plucky, intelligent Hermione who could just as well kick his arse for trying anything she wasn't for. So what was a bloke to do when faced with an impossible decision? Clam up, of course.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, her breath tickling his lips.

"Yeah?" he managed to breathe out.

"You might as well kiss me. You're practically chomping at the bit."

A smirk crawled up his lips as his heart raced a mile a minute. "Twist my arm, why don't you?"

* * *

"Here we are," Hermione walked him to his quarters. "We can discuss the curriculum in the morning over breakfast."

"Sure." He reached for the door handle, and then he paused. "Hermione?"

But she was already down the hall, almost to the corner and, soon, was out of sight.

* * *

 **THREE YEARS AGO**

* * *

"Diagon Alley is expanding three more stores," said Hermione, folding back her newspaper before turning it over to read the back page. Harry sat next to her, sipping from his mug of freshly poured coffee as he read the center pages of the Daily Prophet, forgetting himself for half a moment as he leaned forward, nearly dipping his tie into his syrup-covered pancakes. Without looking up entirely from her paper, Hermione reached over and saved his tie, flipping it over his shoulder. With a smirk, Harry glanced at her as she read quietly to herself.

"You look pretty," he said.

Without missing a beat, she replied, "You say that every time I wear one of your shirts to breakfast."

"And I mean it every time." Harry offered out his paper, and they switched. His eyes immediately roamed to the expansion Hermione spoke of, excited. "The Joke Shop's on the list. Ron must be happy about that one. George, too."

"I'm just glad Ron found something to occupy his time after quitting the Auror department." The ease in which she spoke about their bestfriend (and her former boyfriend) could only be due to the supportive, nurturing relationship she and Harry had now. After their lips met in Diagon Alley that night on Christmas Eve, it had been nearly impossible to separate them. By New Year's Eve, they were officially 'together.' The press had their field day, so explaining to their redheaded best friends that this wasn't some rumor spread along the gossip columns was a discussion for the books.

Ron had been angry at first, accusing Harry of worming in on his girl. Things between the two were rocky for a couple of months until Hermione forced them to sit down and talk it out, explaining to Ron herself that if he had wanted to keep her, he would have. Ron, after some reluctance, agreed, apologizing to Harry with a blush that could have camouflaged in a tub of strawberries. Ginny had taken the news with humility, claiming she was happy for them, even when she wasn't.

Still, it didn't stop Harry and Hermione. She put him in his place when others feared talking back to the 'Hero of the Wizarding World', and Harry would encourage Hermione to loosen up when she took things too seriously. Really, it felt the same as their friendship, but with the added bonus of being able to understand the butterflies in his stomach when she'd smile or touch his hand. And the sex...Merlin, the sex was brilliant. Not only was it passionate (and naughty), but it was wholesome and filling. The kind of love-making only built on a solid layer of trust.

And that was it, wasn't it? Love. There were few things Harry understood entirely: Quidditch, how to make an omelet, a slew of spells used on the job as an Auror. But this: love...it was new to him. And he liked it. The way some of his friends described it, it was messy and gut wrenching, but Harry couldn't find a thing wrong with it.

He had no idea how wrong he was, but time would come to tell him. It began with something very simple: an owl pecking on the kitchen window.

"Harry-"

"-On it." Harry stood from his chair, straightening his tie back in front of him as he shuffled to the window and opened it. It was an owl Harry didn't recognize, so he didn't offer his arm out like he normally would, in fear of being pecked. Instead, he picked up a wooden cutting board and made a ramp for the owl to climb down onto the counter, hooting cheerfully as it went. It offered out its leg, and Harry supposed it was friendly enough (though he'd been burned by trusting strange owls in the past) and removed the tied, scrolled parchment from its ankle. "It's addressed to you."

Hermione, mid-bite of her pancakes, swallowed quickly and stood. The moment her eyes fell on the sender address, they lit up. "Oh my...could this be?" She snatched the letter up happily and tore it open. That was odd. Hermione usually was careful with her letters. "It is! Ah!" She screamed into her hand, bouncing up and down. Her curls danced along her face. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes!"

"Whatever it is, it has you screaming like last night, so it must be good." Harry grinned, crossing his arms.

"I've been invited to be a guest speaker at the Society for Ancient Magical Preservation!"

"That's brilliant, Hermione!" Harry wasn't _exactly_ sure what all that entailed, but he was happy for her, nonetheless.

"Do you know what this means?" she asked, not giving him room to answer. "It means that my thesis paper has been approved for publishing! They want me to read an excerpt from it at the event!"

"Er, what event?"

Hermione handed him the scroll. Harry read over the invitation to the S.F.A.M.P's Annual Charity Ball, held… "This Wednesday?" He scrunched his face. "They sure give you plenty of time, don't they?" His voice was riddled with sarcasm.

"They must have had a last minute drop out…" Hermione's voice tapered off for half a moment. "Oh, well! Their loss! What will I wear? I never know what to wear to these things. You'll wear your nice blazer, of course…"

Harry had just strolled back over to the table to collect his coffee, holding it to his lips when he paused. "Pardon?"

"Well, you're not going in a t-shirt and jeans."

"Hermione…" Harry sat his coffee back on the table. He braced himself for impact. "You know the Ministry began its internal investigation into the Misuse of Magical Artifacts Office. The MACUSA are flooing in the whole week to help…"

"And?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"And I...sort of volunteered to be a liaison."

"You 'sort-of' did or you did?" When Harry didn't reply, Hermione received her answer. "I see. So you'll be working." She wasn't angry; rather, she sounded highly disappointed.

"I mentioned that I might be doing it a couple of weeks ago." The look on her face was enough to shatter his appetite.

"No, I...I understand." Hermione nodded, setting the scroll on the counter and patting the owl gingerly on the head. "You're very passionate about your work."

"I'm passionate about a lot of things." He crossed the distance between them slowly before reaching out to the hem of his shirt wrapped around her slender frame and tugging her to him. His hands slid up the curve of her hips and rested against her pelvic bones, fingers digging into her skin with just enough pressure to make her eyes flutter closed. "I'll make it up to you," he murmured against her ear.

"How?" she whispered, her eyes finding their way back open to peer up at his. Slowly, deliberately, Harry trailed his hands down to her bum before scooping her up and setting her on the counter. The owl next to them hooted and flew to the kitchen table as Harry dipped his head and captured Hermione's lips in a heated kiss. With her legs wrapped snuggly around his hips, Harry reached up to the bottom button of her shirt and began to pull it from its loop. Hermione's hands threaded in his hair, approving his advances as his lips left hers to travel just beneath her ear. "It's a start," she whispered.

* * *

"Class, may I present Harry James Potter, Deputy Auror for the Ministry of Magic."

Hermione hadn't looked at him once since yesterday at breakfast when she'd spilled juice over his lap and had tried to clean it up. The moment their hands touched as they reached for a napkin had sealed Harry's fate to be shunned from looking into her brown irises, even the following day during class. She was friendly enough, but that was about it, and so the tension between them had built. He just couldn't understand _why. Why does she hate me so much?_

Last night, Harry had tossed and turned to memories of Hermione. Today, they haunted him as he tried to sift through each seventh year's question, explaining the pros and cons of becoming an Auror. Apparently, this was what Hermione had in mind when she had invited him here. Not to show off how amazing of an experience it was, but to try to implore the dangers and grueling tasks involved. Still, he would have taken a thousand grueling questions to stand next to her again.

One question, in particular, caught his attention. "What's the best defensive spell?"

"Expelliarmus has saved me loads of times," Harry shrugged.

Hermione snorted a laugh at her desk.

"Yes, Professor?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"A _Protego_ spell is _obviously_ the better option, wouldn't you say, Auror Potter?" She said innocently, as if she hadn't packed her bags and broken his heart all that time ago. If anything, she looked amused.

"Well, seeing as I'm the one on the field," he chided with a small puff of haughtiness, "I think I know what I'm talking about, Professor." Finally, it was enough to cause her to break.

"Care to make a little wager?" she offered.

"What do you propose?"

"A duel."

"Oh, um...I don't…" Harry started, but was cut off by a chirpy seventh year girl.

"Auror Potter would _totally_ win _._ He catches Dark Wizards for a _living_."

"Yeah, but Professor Granger's entire job is dedicated to Defense Against the Dark Arts," said the classmate beside her.

"Excuse me, Sir? Wouldn't it be bad form to take down a lady?"

"Believe me, your Professor's no lady when it comes to battle magic…" Harry gave Hermione a wink he hoped wouldn't get him socked in the face and turned to the students. "Well, who's taking bets? I want to get my money in on this, too."

* * *

 **TWO YEARS AGO**

* * *

Harry fidgeted nervously with the box inside his pocket as he paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, waiting for Hermione to arrive home. He'd been gone all week on a covert mission, but today was dedicated to her and her alone...if she'd ever show up.

Finally, after what felt like forever, she stepped through the floo, brushing off the soot from her skirt while balancing a pile of books in her arms. Quickly, Harry slipped the box deep into his pocket and rushed to her, scooping the books up and tossing them on the couch.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "Careful with the-" she was cut off with an urgent kiss to her lips. Melting at his touch, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled against his mouth. When the broke apart, she whispered, "Well...hello to you, too."

"I didn't say hello," he grinned, pulling her in for another quick peck.

"If that wasn't a 'hello', I'm anxious to see what is," she laughed, noticing the way he shook against her. "Are you alright?"

"Er, yeah, I'm great." Though he knew he didn't look it; he imagined he was as pale as a vampire.

"Did you comb your hair?"

"Tried."

"What's going on?" A crease formed between her eyebrows. "Has someone died?"

"Quite the opposite, actually…"

He was just about to fall to one knee, knowing if he waited he'd never gather the courage again, when the floo behind them lit to life. A spec-eyed Auror Harry recognized as Benjamin sputtered as he stepped through the green flames, "Auror P-Potter. S-So sorry to intrude...Urgent le-letter for you, Sir. You're n-needed back at the Ministry…" He extended his arm and offered out a parchment. Harry released Hermione, trudged over, and read over the letter.

"Fucking Hell…" His fingers automatically ruffled through his hair, messing it up all over again. "I'm sorry, Hermione…"

"You have to go." Her voice strained to stay even, though her eyes held tension and disappointment.

"They need me."

She nodded, turning her back to him. "Of course, they do."

"Hermione…"

"Could we have a moment alone?" she asked, peering over her shoulder at Benjamin. The nervous Auror nodded and excused himself through the floo. When he was gone, Hermione turned back around to face Harry, arms crossed and expression solemn. "I understand, Harry. Really, I do. I know your work is important to you, and I _know_ you're trying to rebuild the Ministry." She tapped her foot a few times, mulling over her next words. Harry moved to take a step to her, but when he did she threw her hand up, signalling him to stop. "I've received a letter from Headmistress McGonagall. A teaching position has opened up at Hogwarts and...and she wants me to take the position." She looked determined as she spoke. "Your career is important to you, Harry, but so is mine. And...I'm going to accept her offer."

Harry's heart tumbled down into his stomach. "You're what?" The box in his pocket burned against his thigh, or maybe that was just the thought of it. Silence befell the room until he, finally, choked out, "What about us?"

Hermione's eyes watered, and she concentrated on the rug between them. "This will give us both an opportunity to focus on ourselves…"

"I - I don't _want_ to focus on myself. I want to focus on _you -_ on _us."_

"You have a funny way of showing it," she muttered under her breath.

"Oh, yeah, Hermione, because I just _never_ give you the time of day," he rolled his eyes.

Hermione's eyes bored deep into his soul as she snapped, "Now is _not_ the time for sarcasm, Harry." Sniffling, she wiped her nose with her sleeve and pointed to the floo. "You're needed at the Ministry; you should go."

Anger boiled inside of Harry - not toward Hermione, but because of the situation he found himself in all because of his position as an Auror. There was a reason half of the Division was divorced and the other half single. He patted his pocket and pushed his glasses up his nose. "We'll talk about this when I get home, alright?" His hands shook as he reached for the floo powder on the mantle.

"Sure…"

"...I love you."

"I love you, too…" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

The next moment, Harry disappeared through the flames, not knowing he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

* * *

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione stared down at him from the courtyard as Harry puffed breath after exhausted breath.

Every muscle in his body ached - of course, being launched thirty feet backwards into soft dirt could do that to a man. Not wanting to show his vulnerability, Harry quipped, "Merlin, Hermione, I think you could have given Voldemort a run for his money. Are you sure _you_ weren't the Chosen One?"

"Oh, for Morgana's sake...class dismissed." She ushered her pupils away with a shoo of her hands, ignoring several of her students while they were ushering out Sickles and Knuts to their respecting bookies. One Gryffindor hung his head particularly low, muttering under his breath about losing a fortune. Hermione bent down beside Harry, waving her wand over his body to check for internal injuries. "You took a pretty nasty tumble, Harry, are you sure you're alright?"

It was the closest she'd been to him since his arrival; Harry instantly felt his ears flush and his body tingle at their proximity. Like a nervous schoolboy, he fumbled to sit upright and pushed his (now bent) glasses up his nose. "Never better. Honestly? It was a rush. I haven't been bested in a long time. It feels…"

"Humbling?" she offered.

"Enlivening. - And before you ask, _yes,_ I did find that in the dictionary you got me." Sitting next to her, it felt like the last two years had been erased from his mind. Before she could register it, Hermione's face cracked into a smile. When she realized what she had done, she tried to cover it up by tucking her wand back into her robes.

"Well, you don't seem to be broken."

He took a chance. "...On the outside."

Their eyes met.

"Don't," she said, making to stand. Harry reached out and grabbed her hand, determined. "Harry-"

"Look, you've been avoiding me for two years. I finally have a moment with you; I'm not going to waste it."

"I knew I shouldn't have asked you here…"

"Then you wouldn't have done it," Harry said, rubbing his thumb over her palm in soft strokes. "You're Hermione Granger. You don't make rash decisions."

"I suppose I don't."

She wasn't pulling her hand out of his - it was a start. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, staring down at their hands. Sighing, she nodded. "My office." Bravely, Harry smirked, letting her pull away and help him to his feet. Trying to pretend that he wasn't riddled with anxiousness, he followed her down the looping corridors in silence until they reached what used to be Professor McGonagall's office, now lined with shelves of books on every side. A large desk sat in the center, and a small couch set off adjacent, across from the fireplace. As soon as the door shut, Harry internally panicked. What could he say to her? Just what did he expect to accomplish from this?

He wiped his hands down his pants to stay their clamminess and focused on the two words he'd practiced in his head since she left. "I'm sorry." When she didn't respond, merely taking a seat at the couch instead, he began to pace in front of the hearth. "I fucked up, Hermione. I should have never left that day. I should have stayed - talked about everything. Then and _there._ " Still, she didn't say a word, and Harry quickened his pace. "When I came back, you'd taken all of your things and gone."

"I didn't want things to be messy," she murmured.

Harry's back went erect as he stopped mid stride. " _Messy?_ Because leaving without a word - without a note - wasn't _messy?_ "

"I know you were upset," she began, but he cut her off at the pass.

"Upset doesn't begin to cover it, 'Mione. I _loved_ you. Still do, as a matter of fact." His voice grew quieter. "Why? Why couldn't you talk about it?"

"Because I didn't _want_ to talk about it, Harry!" she snapped, jumping up from her seat and glaring daggers at him as her hands balled into fists. "What was I going to say to you?"

"That I had my head in my arse! That I wasn't thinking straight! That fixing the Ministry means nothing - _nothing_ if I can't come home at the end of the day to _you._ "

Hermione's voice quivered. "Harry… do you think I left you because of your career as an Auror?"

It was Harry's turn to grow silent, eyes drifting to the floor. Two years he'd held it in, but now it all was splayed on the floor for her to see: his heart, his emotions, his greatest regrets. "I should have never left you that day."

"It wouldn't have made a difference." She cleared her throat, and Harry lifted his gaze, meeting hers. "I...I would have left, either way."

"Why?"

"Because, while you took your career seriously, you forgot about mine." She took a dangerous step forward, and Harry became rooted to the spot like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "You were so busy with your own life, you didn't come to a single one my lectures."

"I…" Harry frowned. "That can't be right...what about the-" He cut himself off; he couldn't recall a single event he'd gone to. Guilt flooded his chest. " _Damn it._ " He rubbed his cheeks and fought to recall _one time_ he'd done something to celebrate her advancements. "I was working so much…"

"And I don't blame you for that, Harry." Hermione shortened the distance between them and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But I had to take care of myself. I'm not the kind of person to wait for someone to come home. I have my own goals, my own values to think about."

"I'm no better than Ron was." Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, mulling over what to do next. What could he say that would rectify the situation? Nothing, he realized. "You could have told me how you were feeling."

"I didn't want to distract you from your career," she admitted. "And I _tried_ talking to you, Harry. You just were too wrapped up in your own businesses to notice I had one foot out the door for so long. I thought you knew what you were doing. "

"It's obvious I didn't, did I? I should have stayed that night. - Hermione, I was going to propose to you." His hand reached to his pockets as if the ring might still be there instead of his dresser drawer at home, where he always kept it.

"...You were what?"

Their eyes met again, and Harry spilled the beans. "All of those extra hours at the Ministry, all of the time spent away from home - it was because I was saving up for a ring. And then, when I got it… I guess...I became addicted to it. The job."

Hermione frowned, soaking in his words. "I know."

"I'd take it all back if I could. You have to know I wouldn't have hurt you on purpose-"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" he muttered, defeated.

"Brood. It's what you do; you're Harry, after all."

"Yeah, well, since you left, that's _all_ I've done." He attempted a half smile, adding, "That and wank off."

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she did let a smile slip as well. "And there's the sarcasm to mask your feelings. You're quite good at it."

"Not like it did us any good." He closed his eyes, afraid to walk out the door and afraid to say anything else that might tear down what little bit of love was still left between them. He wanted to stay in this moment as long as he could before reality scratched its way back to the surface. "Why did you invite me here, Hermione?"

"I don't understand."

"Why invite _me_ here? You could have asked any other Auror to come. Hell, Neville was an Auror before he became an Herbology Professor. So why _me?"_

"I don't know."

"Was it just to rub my stupidity in?"

A hand touched his face - _hers_. And it was Heaven. His eyes pried back open to find her face inches from his, pensive. "No, Harry. Believe it or not, I'm not sadistic." Her fingers stroked down his cheek as her eyes drifted down to his lips. "It's difficult to stay mad at you, you know. You're like a wounded puppy."

"Well, I did just have my arse handed to me by a beautiful professor."

"Beautiful?"

"Some would say stunning."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Would they?"

Harry leaned closer, tilting his head ever so slightly. His body automatically reacted to the old banter they used to play, and he took a chance, reaching his hand up hesitantly to cup her cheek. "Truth be told, Professor, I'd take a hundred arse kickings if it meant getting sent to your office."

Just before Hermione could roll her eyes, Harry dipped his head forward and crashed his lips into hers. At first she stiffened, afraid to give in, but all it took was Harry bundling her into his arms and stroking his fingers down her spine to cause her to melt against him. Hands trembled as they reached for buttons. Legs went out from under when they stumbled into the sofa. Harry's heart was racing, and he had no doubt Hermione knew why this time. Two years of pent up emotions exploded like fizzy pumpkin juice bottled and shaken, coaxing them in sticky, messy feelings. But Harry knew that when she kissed him back, she felt it too. The love between them couldn't be swept away, no matter how hard either of them tried.

Harry locked the door with a wave of his hand. He didn't want to be disturbed; he had two years of making up to do, after all.

Sighs turned into gasps. Gasps turned into moans. There wasn't a shred of furniture safe from them. By the time they were through, the floor was dripping in black ink, books were ripped from the shelves, and the sofa was against the wall. But there was a _very_ satisfied Hermione curled up on it against Harry's side.

"I love you," she whispered, nuzzling her face into his chest.

Harry couldn't wipe the grin off his face if he tried. "I love you, too, Hermione…I mean, _Professor._ "

To his delight, Hermione giggled in reply. "Excuse you, Sir. You're far too old to be a student."

"There's no need to call me _Sir_ , Professor," he smirked. "I rather liked it when you screamed 'Harry' instead."

* * *

 **Please feel free to leave your thoughts.**  
 **With love,**  
 **A.**


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